What I’m looking forward to most this week is getting together with loved ones to celebrate a miracle of rebirth, to sit in a reverent and music-filled temple, awe-struck by the mysterious forces of good in the universe. I’m speaking, of course, about my Saturday night tickets to go see "The Last Jedi" with my HS besties in Indianapolis. Can’t wait!!!
Well, I rounded out the Pitt alum reading series last week with Stacey Waite. So I’m done running poems by live poetry witnessed in November, right? Wrong! Because the week Brandon Som was in town, I managed to see 7 poets read in a 3-day span; more poetry than I usually take in in a 6-month span. At the White Whale book store, 3 semi-local poets shared their work. Up first was Rochelle Hurt of Slippery Rock U’s English Department. Several of her poems had people laughing, in a good way. Later, I found this one from 2107 online. The nice thing about it for me is the McDonald’s reference and this week’s intro, given that in HS the McDonald’s parking lot was a regular meet-up for me and my friends. I think the idea was that it was a launching pad for other, more diverting venues… but sometimes, hanging out in the McDonald’s parking lot, or the McDonald’s, was itself the event. Why? I don’t know. We weren’t what you would call "cool." We also weren’t what you would call cool. Lot of good sounds in this poem — it’s a quick read. Lots of assonance, which also happened to be Brian’s nickname in HS. Have a good week, -ed.
I WANT TO WALK TO MCDONALD’S FOREVER, FRIEND
I want to wade there with you on a snow day,
wheeze-winded & teary. I want to smash the ice
in your lashes, then let the oily steam breathe us
back to running blood. Or I want to walk there
in crop tops we’ll swap in the lime fluorescent
of the slime-tiled john so we can walk home as one
another. I want to wooze in your menthol-cherry
aura as we find every flickering arch in the city.
Delicate licker of grease-dipped French tips,
send me a Rite-Aid valentine that says be my bitch
& I’ll be yours. No take-backs, no joke, no jinx
when I answered that trick crush question with you,
you who then flipped & tramped the whole year solo.
But I swear on my mamaw’s spine we can walk
it all back with Big Macs & a thousand half-hug pats.
Please let’s just meet on the mouth of straw,
suck it up, crush only our cups, & let the year drip down
the sewer slats as we walk back & back & back.